


Reciting Sappho

by cdybedahl



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 16:53:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4067464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cdybedahl/pseuds/cdybedahl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the weird Riff-Off competition, Beca wanders off alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reciting Sappho

It’s closing in on midnight, and Beca is feeling lost. Lost in life, with graduation coming up, and the Bellas, and the internship. Lost socially, because as much as she loves the Bellas, she still doesn’t really feel like she belongs in the acapella world. Lost emotionally, because she really has no idea how to handle all the intense feelings that the tall blonde leader of Das Sound Machine wakes in her, or the feelings for Chloe that have been simmering for years. Lost physically, because the weird rich guy’s mansion is seriously enormous and she didn’t pay attention when she wandered away from the room where they’d lost the competition. She’s ended up in another too large room with too much decor, just as full of people as the first one. The main difference here, and possibly the reason for all the people, is that this room has a bar. Which has alcohol, which in turn is a time-honored way to deal with conflicted emotions. Beca makes her way over to it through the herd of excessively tall people, and manages to catch the attention of a bartender.  
“So what are you having, miss?” the girl behind the bar says.  
She’s got long hair, a black vest over a white blouse and she looks tired.  
“I’ll…” Beca manages to say before she’s interrupted.  
“She’ll just have some sparkling water,” someone next to her says.  
Someone with a German accent. Someone tall, blonde and dressed all in black. Some of it fishnet.  
“I want her head to be clear and her senses sharp when I fuck her,” Kommissar continues.  
Beca lets out a sharp breath. She totally loses her train of thought. She turns to the other woman, and stares at her cleavage for several seconds before she tilts her head up so she can see Kommissar’s face.  
“How about it, miss?” the bartender says.  
“Um, er, huh,” Beca says. “What?”  
“Sparkling water it is,” the bartender sighs.  
With near-automatic motions, she puts some ice cubes and a lemon slice in a glass, opens a bottle of Perrier and puts them in front of Beca. While she does so, Kommissar just smiles at her stunned victim.  
“You’re going to what now?” Beca finally manages to say. “And do I get a say in this?”  
Kommissar puts her hand on Beca’s neck. She slides it up the back of Beca’s head, grabs a large handful of hair close to the scalp. Gently but forcefully, she pulls Beca’s head back. Some part of Beca thinks she should be resisting. That she should not let herself be handled this way. That she should pull free, curse the presumptuous bitch and take off.  
Other parts of Beca are too busy going “Oh my God she’s hot” and “that feels so good” to pay any attention to the first part.  
Kommissar bends down so her lips are just at Beca’s ear. She sucks briefly on Beca’s earlobe, sending bolts of excitement all through Beca’s body.  
“I’m going to get you naked,” Kommissar whispers. “I’m going to put you on your back, and spread you legs as wide as they’ll go. Then I’ll recite poetry by Sappho to you, in Morse code, with my tongue, on your pussy. And of course you get a say. You get to say yes.”  
Beca swallows. There is no room in her mind for anything except the image Kommissar has just put there.  
“Right now? Right here?” Beca hears her mouth say. “On the bar?”  
Kommissar’s laugh is deep and warm and sends pulses of excitement straight to Beca’s lady parts.  
“If you wish,” Kommissar says. “But I prefer privacy.”  
She kisses her way down Beca’s jawbone before she lets go of her hair. Beca stumbles a step back and catches herself against the bar. It takes serious effort to keep her knees from folding.  
“I…,” she says. “I need to go find my friends.”  
She hurries off, followed by the German woman’s husky laughter.

  
  


Beca finds Chloe and the other Bellas out by the pool, because of course the mansion has a pool. Fat Amy is in it, stark naked. Most of the people around the pool have lost some amount of clothing, with the majority being down to underwear. Chloe, to Beca’s surprise, has not taken off anything.  
“Hi,” she says, sitting down next to Chloe. “Aren’t you joining the pool party?”  
“Oh, there you are!” Chloe says, catching Beca in that special kind of exuberant hug that only Chloe gives. Also, along with awkward hugs from her parents, the only kind of hug Beca accepts. In secret, she even likes them, although she’d never let that show.  
“We wondered where you’d got to,” Chloe says. “You just disappeared.”  
“I needed a little alone time,” Beca says. “So why aren’t you undressing? I would’ve thought you’d be the first down to the underwear.”  
Chloe puts her mouth to Beca’s ear, unknowingly almost mirroring Kommissar’s earlier action.  
“I’m not wearing any underwear,” she whispers.  
Beca looks Chloe up and down. Chloe winks at her. Beca looks away.  
“Right,” Beca says, blushing.  
Chloe has been flirting with her like that for as long as Beca has known her. Kind of longer, since she didn’t actually know Chloe yet that time she barged into Beca’s shower stall. Beca has never been able to make her mind up if she likes it or not, so she’s kept sort of almost but not quite responding.  
“So I’ll wait until it reaches that level before I join,” Chloe says.  
“You think it’ll go that far?”  
“Well, Fat Amy is already there, and Cynthia Rose is trying hard to get Stacie to strip, so it might,” Chloe says. “All it needs is for some non-Bellas to join.”  
“Like those Green Bay Packers dudes?” Beca says.  
Chloe gives Beca the same kind of long look that Beca just gave her.  
“Not my type,” Chloe finally says. “But I suppose they’d work for others.”  
“So, er,” Beca says, “can I ask your advice on something?”  
“Of course you can,” Chloe says. “I’ll do anything for you.”  
Beca does know that, she just doesn’t know how to deal with it.  
“So, like, if someone here at this party propositioned you, would you, like, take them up on it?”  
Chloe gives her a weird look.  
“Beca Mitchell,” she says, “are you finally coming on to me?”  
Beca gives her a brief, shocked, look then turns away.  
“No,” she says. “Sorry.”  
Although she wants to. Has wanted to for years. It’s just… It would be complicated, all right? Beca doesn’t do complicated.  
Chloe makes her little harrumphing sound.  
“So someone else flirted with you?” she says.  
“Pretty much,” Beca says.  
“Are you sure they meant it? Not to sound negative, but you aren’t the best at picking up on social cues.”  
“Oh, it was _very_ clear,” Beca says. “There is _no_ doubt about it. Seriously.”  
Chloe gives her a long, appraising look.  
“I think you should,” she finally says.  
Beca looks at her.  
“I haven’t even said who it is,” she says.  
Chloe shrugs.  
“Doesn’t matter,” she says. “If you didn’t want to, you’d just have ignored it. You came here because you want to say yes, but you need me to convince you to. So go do it.”  
There is a sad tone in her voice that cuts at Beca’s heart. She wants to do something about it, to hug Chloe back, to kiss her, to give her what she really wants. But somehow, for some reason she’s never been able to figure out, she just can’t.  
“Right,” she says. “Er, thanks.”  
Chloe smiles at her.  
“Come back here later,” she says. “Maybe you’ll get to see me naked.”  
“I’ve seen you naked,” Beca says.  
“Maybe you’ll get to see me naked _again_ ,” Chloe says. “Now go rock whoever’s world.”  
Beca leaves.

  
  


It takes Beca five minutes to find an unoccupied bedroom, and another fifteen to find the phone number that Das Sound Machine is using during their tour. When she calls it, a male voice answers.  
“ _Hallo._ ”  
“Er,” Beca says. “I’m trying to reach Kommissar?”  
Suddenly she realizes that she actually doesn’t know the woman’s name.  
“ _Einen Augenblick_ ,” the male voice says.  
For a few moments, only the background noises of a party comes over the phone.  
“Hello?” Kommissar’s voice says.  
Beca gathers up all the courage she can find.  
“Yeah, uh, it’s Beca,” she says. “From the Barden Bellas?”  
“Hello, _Mäuschen_ ,” Kommissar says. “What’s on your mind?”  
“Um, like,” Beca says. “On the second floor, looking out over the terrace with the barbecue, there’s a bedroom.”  
“Is there now.”  
Beca swallows. She wants this, for sure. Even so, there’s a knot in her stomach.  
“I think it’d be good for… poetry reading.”  
“I see,” Kommissar says.  
There is no change to her voice. Beca’s knot grows larger.  
“So I thought, you might want to, you know, drop by,” she says. “Or something.”  
“Is this you having your say?” Kommissar says.  
“Yes,” Beca says. “Yes, it is. And yes is what I’m saying.”  
“I’ll be there shortly,” Kommissar says. “Be ready.”  
The phone goes silent. Beca looks at it. Ready? What does she mean by ready? Does she expect to find Beca naked on her back with her legs spread? That feels… risky. Also, taking away quite a bit of the fun. Or does she just mean that Beca should be ready to do… things? Which she totally is.  
Isn’t she?  
The fact of what she’s about to do suddenly strikes her. She’s intending not only to have sex with another woman, but one she’s met exactly twice and whose name she doesn’t even know. And, yeah, the woman part isn’t that odd, really, since although she’s never actually slept with one, she’s sure been thinking about it. Ever since Chloe walked into that shower stall. The stranger she’s barely met, part, though…  
Or maybe that’s a good thing. There’s none of the fear of ruining a friendship that’s always been there with Chloe.  
Also, for someone who’s about to hook up with a stranger, she’s spending a lot time thinking about Chloe.  
She swears softly to herself and rubs her eyes with the heels of her palms. She has no plan. She hardly even knows what she wants. She knows she’s crazy horny for the German blonde, but that’s it. She’d kind of liked how Kommissar took control, but was that something she wanted to pursue further? Should she try to find something rope-like?  
She looks around the room. It is either the least personal bedroom she’d ever seen, or a rarely used guest room. Given the enormous size of the mansion, she feels pretty sure it’s the latter. It has a huge four-poster bed, made from dark wood and covered with a dark green and gold bedspread. The carpet is very thick and a matching deep green. The furniture is all very dark wood with brass. Overall, it looks more like a showpiece than a room to be lived in.  
The heavy curtains are tied up with thick pieces of rope. Beca runs her fingers along one of them. It’s thicker than her finger by a fair bit, and feels slightly rough to the touch. She tries to imagine it tied around her wrists, and her breath hitches a little.  
“You like that, yes?”  
Beca spins around, snatching her hand back from the rope. Kommissar is standing just inside the door, smiling at her.  
“Shit, you’re here!” Beca says.  
She shakes her head.  
“I mean,” she says, “good, you’re here. ‘Cause, you know, I was waiting.”  
Kommissar walks closer. She’s definitely exaggerating the swing of her leather-clad hips. Which works, because Beca finds that she can hardly tear her gaze away.  
“Was that what you meant by sexually confused?” Kommissar asks. “I thought you meant your desire for women, but I’m starting to think the rumors about the Bellas are true. So is it that you want me to dominate you? To control you?”  
She stops half a step too close to Beca. She runs a finger down the side of Beca’s face and neck.  
“Do you want me to play your body like a beautiful instrument, but can’t accept your own wants?” she says. “Is that it?”  
“Er, ok, wow you’re tall,” Beca says. “That’s so not it, like at all, it’s just that…”  
Kommissar grabs her by the chin and silences her with a kiss. A hard, insistent kiss that blanks out all thought in Beca’s head. A strong arm finds its way around her waist and pulls her close to the other woman. Really, really close. Which is a good thing, since Beca’s knees has apparently decided that they don’t want to do their job of holding her up any longer.  
The kiss breaks.  
“You are very pretty,” Kommissar says. “I want to see you naked.”  
“Yeah, me too,” Beca says. “I mean, you’re also pretty, and I want to see you naked. I’ve already seen me naked. It’s not that exciting.”  
Kommissar’s arm is still around her waist. Their bodies are still pressed against each other. Feeling the warm, delicious firm softness of the other woman’s curves is playing havoc with Beca’s ability to think clearly.  
“I think,” she says, squirming a little, “that I can stand on my own now.”  
“Perhaps I should hold on to make sure,” Kommissar says. “Unless you wish to undress. I’ll let you go for that.”  
Kommissar is so much taller than Beca that Beca’s face is almost between her breasts. It’s extremely distracting. Thoughts trickle through Beca’s mind like lethargic snails.  
“Wait,” she says. “What rumors about the Bellas?”  
“That you are all gay,” Kommissar says.  
“What?” Beca says. “No! Yeah, ok, there’s Cynthia Rose, and Ashley and Jessica, and Chloe and Stacie and…”  
Her voice tapers off when she hears herself. The list is actually pretty long.  
“Fat Amy is straight,” she says. “Totally for real. And I don’t know about the new girl.”  
“And what about you, _schöne Mäuschen_? Are you gay too?”  
Kommissar wiggles her hips again, and Beca suddenly realizes that somehow her hands has ended up on Kommissar’s ass. Her firm, gorgeous ass.  
Something lets go deep inside Beca’s mind.  
“Yes,” she says. “Yes, I’m gay. I’m totally, entirely, Ellen-level lesbian.”  
She’s never said that before. She’s never _thought_ that before. She thinks it’s true, and has for a long time. But she’s never dared say it even to herself. Saying it out loud feels incredibly scary and incredibly good at the same time.  
“I’m glad,” Kommissar says. “It would be shame to waste such a pretty girl on boys.”  
She kisses Beca again, and this time Beca answers more enthusiastically. Also, she’s getting more eager to get onto the bed. Bending her head back is starting to strain her neck.  
“Strip for me, _Mäuschen,_ ” Kommissar says. “I want to see you naked.”  
“Trade you,” Beca says. “One of mine goes, one of yours goes.”  
Kommissar smiles.  
“Deal,” she says.

  
  


Beca’s intention to undress slowly and teasingly lasts until Kommissar stretches her arms up to take off her fish-net top and her marvelous abs come into even clearer view. Beca suddenly finds that she wants to touch them very, very badly. She unbuttons her vest and tosses it aside as fast as she can. Kommissar is working on her leather pants almost before Beca is done with her vest, so it seems the eagerness is not one-sided. Also, shoes and boots apparently do not count. Beca doesn’t argue. She wiggles out of her jeans with urgency.  
When all she’s wearing is bra and panties doubt suddenly sets in. Her own body is far from the toned, athletic miracle that is Kommissar. At least her underwear matches, and is fairly nice, with lace and stuff, compared to Kommissar’s black sports bra and boxer shorts.  
“You are so pretty,” Kommissar says.  
There’s genuine admiration in her voice.  
“You think?” Beca says. “I’m nothing compared to you!”  
“You are gorgeous,” Kommissar says. “Why else would I pursue you so much?”  
Courage bolstered, Beca turns around. She looks over her shoulder at Kommissar.  
“Unhook me?” she says.  
Kommissar hesitates for half a breath before she does as she’s asked. Her fingers are soft and careful. The bra clasp parts, and the straps it was holding together fall apart. Kommissar puts her hands fully to Beca’s skin, stroking her back. They move slowly forward, around her sides, under the loose-hanging bra. Beca’s eyes flutter shut as, for the first time, another woman’s hands are caressing her breasts. It feels fantastic. When gentle fingers start circling her nipples it gets even better. She shrugs off her bra, letting it fall to the floor. She reaches back and puts her hands on Kommissar’s thighs, feeling the hard muscles play under the smooth skin. The closer to the inside of them she moves her hands, the more firmly Kommissar pinches her nipples. She likes that, so pretty soon she’s stroking the oh so very soft skin right at the edge of Kommissar’s boxer shorts. When her fingers start to move in under the cloth, Kommissar swears in German, lets go of her and steps back.  
Confused, Beca turns around. Did she do something wrong?  
Kommissar is breathing heavily and clearly flushed. She’s also in the process of pulling off her sports bra. Beca smiles. No, she did not do anything wrong.  
“Here,” she says. “Let me help.”  
She grabs the top of the annoyingly large boxer shorts and pulls them down. To get them all the way down to Kommissar’s feet, she has to squat. Which puts her face right in front of Kommissar’s crotch.  
The hair there is darker than on Kommissar’s head, but not by all that much. It’s neatly trimmed into a narrow triangle covering the mons. When Kommissar steps out of her shorts, Beca can clearly see that the skin around her labia is perfectly smooth and hairless. The labia themselves are glistening with viscous fluid.  
“Do you like what you see, _Mäuschen_?” Kommissar says.  
Instead of answering, Beca leans forward and places a kiss right in between the hair triangle and the top of the vulva. She tickles the skin briefly with her tongue, and gets a loud gasp from above as a response. She’s trying to decide if she should keep kissing, and if so where, when a hand buries itself in her hair and pulls insistently upward. Bracing herself with her hands on Kommissar’s hips, Beca follows. When she’s standing, Kommissar lets go.  
“Naked,” Kommissar says. “On the bed. Now.”  
Beca has no problem with that. She tries to get out of her own soaked panties as fast as possible, and nearly falls over in the process. Once they’re gone, she climbs onto the bed. It’s not until she turns around so she’s half-sitting half-lying on the bed that it occurs to her that she’s just given Kommissar a good view of her rear end. From the entranced look on the other woman, she enjoyed it. Beca smiles and spreads her legs a little.  
“Are you joining me?” she says. “I want you here.”  
Kommissar doesn’t answer. She reaches up and unpins her hair, shakes it out so it falls like a golden curtain down her neck. The shaking also makes her breasts jiggle. Beca licks her lips. The sight is breathtaking. Kommissar runs her fingers through her hair a couple of times. When it seems she’s satisfied with it, she smiles at Beca and starts approaching.  
If Beca thought the sight of Kommissar approaching her fully dressed was entrancing, that was _nothing_ compared to her doing so stark naked. Beca watches transfixed as the other woman climbs onto the bed on her hands and knees, and stalks forward straddling Beca’s outstretched legs. Her breasts hang down, swinging gently as she moves. Beca is just about to reach out and grab one of them when Kommissar dips her head down and places a sloppy kiss right at Beca’s navel. She lowers herself, kissing her way up Beca’s torso and leaving tingling tracks where her stiff nipples drag across Beca’s skin.  
“Oh God,” Beca hears herself say. This is like nothing she’s ever felt before.  
Kommissar kisses and licks her way up between Beca’s breasts, across her neck, over her chin and finally reaches her mouth. Beca eagerly, so eagerly, meets her kiss. She wraps her arms around Kommissar’s neck, falling the final little bit down the bed and pulling Kommissar along with her. The larger woman lies heavy on her, and it feels so crazy good to have her there that Beca’s eyes tear up. She pushes her tongue into Kommissar’s mouth, needing to _have_ the other woman in some way.  
The kiss is returned with just as much eagerness. Briefly, there is a hand on Beca’s breast. She feels Kommissar move around, without breaking the kiss or even losing a lot of skin contact. She’s still trying to figure out what the other woman is doing, and if she should help in some way, when she feels a hand slide in between her legs. She moans and spread her legs wider, trying to invite the hand closer. Needed or not, it works. Fingers probe at the folds of her labia, sliding in along and between them.  
The amazing feeling makes Beca’s entire body twitch. Her head falls back and her back arches. The intense kiss finally ends.  
“Did you like?” Kommissar whispers.  
Beca nods, unable to form words.  
“How is this?”  
A finger slides into Beca. Or maybe it’s fingers. She cannot tell. She can tell that it feels _glorious_. She spreads her legs wider, as wide as she can, and tries to push herself against Kommissar’s hand. She wants, she needs, more!  
Kommissar obliges. Her hands starts to move, sliding however many fingers it is slowly in and out of Beca.  
“Wait,” Beca says. “Stop.”  
Kommissar stops with her fingers fully inside.  
“What is it, _Mäuschen_?” she says.  
“I want,” Beca says. “I want to…”  
She tries to get her own hand between herself and Kommissar, down between Kommissar’s legs. It doesn’t take Kommissar many seconds to figure out what Beca is after. She changes position, arches her back a little, and suddenly Beca is running her fingers back and forth over another woman’s sex. Which is amazing and great and oh my God, but she wants more. She fumbles around, trying hard not to scratch the sensitive flesh with her nails, until she finds the opening. She pushes a finger inside. Above her, Kommissar closes her eyes, gasps and Beca can feel her shiver. Beca pulls her finger almost all the way out, then slides it in again. After a couple of times, Kommissar starts mirroring the movement with her own hand. She’s opened her eyes again, and they look deep into each other’s eyes.  
There is a rougher spot high up on the inside wall of Kommissar’s vagina. It doesn’t take Beca long to notice that when she happens to put some extra pressure there, Kommissar twitches and gasps a little more than usual, so she starts deliberately going for it. Which seems to have an effect.  
“ _Schwerer!_ ” Kommissar hisses.  
She’s pushing herself against Beca’s hand, so Beca guesses it means that she wants Beca to do more of what she’s doing. Beca is more than happy to oblige. Kommissar’s hand is still between Beca’s legs, but she’s lost her rhythm, and often seems to entirely forget to move her fingers. Beca doesn’t mind, it makes it possible for her to concentrate somewhat on what she’s doing to Kommissar. Who has arched her back enough while trying to impale herself on Beca that Beca can use her free hand to grab one of the beautiful breasts right there in front of her face. She tries pinching the nipple pretty hard at the same time as she presses down on the rough spot inside Kommissar, and she raises the heel of her palm a bit so it’ll rub against Kommissar’s clit as she moves.  
This seems to have the desired effect. Kommissar’s eyes are closed again, and she’s mumbling steadily in German. She’s moving her hips faster and faster, and it’s all Beca can do to keep her hand still and let Kommissar fuck herself on it. Kommissar’s hand has left Beca’s sex, and she’s grabbing both of Beca’s breasts pretty hard. She moves faster and faster, moaning and panting. Drops of sweat roll down her gorgeous face. Beca has just started to wonder how long she can physically manage to keep the pretty strange position she’s holding, when Kommissar slams herself down on Beca’s fingers one last time and stops. Her whole body is shivering, and Beca can feel the walls of her vagina contract. Her face is contorted, and she doesn’t seem to be breathing.  
They remain like that, nearly still, for long enough that Beca has time to start worrying that something’s wrong. Which doesn’t take that long, really. But before the worry really goes anywhere, Kommissar shudders one last time and collapses onto Beca in a relaxed heap. Beca gently extracts her hand and puts her arms around Kommissar.  
“Hey,” she says. “Are you OK?”  
“ _Fantastische_ ,” Kommissar says.  
She catches Beca’s lips in a long, slow kiss. Which instantly reignites the fires inside Beca. Involuntarily, she squirms her hips. Kommissar breaks the kiss and frowns at her.  
“You did not come yet, little mouse?”  
Beca shakes her head nervously, hoping that she isn’t disappointing the other woman by failing to.  
Kommissar’s frown turns into a grin.  
“Good,” she says. “I made you a promise, no?”  
“You did?” Beca says.  
Kommissar doesn’t answer, instead she slides down Beca’s body until her face is between Beca’s legs. She puts her hands on Beca’s thighs and pushes them apart, far enough that Beca sends a thankful thought to all the hours of dance training she’s had to do for the Bellas.  
“What are…”  
Before she gets all of the question out, Beca feels Kommissar’s tongue push between her labia, answering it with all possibly clarity.  
“Oh God,” Beca breathes.  
There’s a long lick, from her vaginal opening all the way up to her clit. A shorter one, on her clit alone. Then a long one again, followed by one more. A short pause, then three licks going all the way. Another brief pause, then two licks on her clit followed by one going all the way along the vulva.  
Long, short, long, long. Long, long, long. Short, short, long.  
‘You’ in Morse code.  
“Oh my _God_ ,” Beca says. “You were _serious_!”  
She lies back and tries to relax. She spreads her legs a little more, pushes her hips a little harder against Kommissar’s face and hopes that Kommissar has chosen one of the longer Sappho poems.

  
  


It’s long past midnight when Beca returns to the pool. Most of the party has died off, but a few people are still there. Notably, most of the Bellas, who are gathered at the far end of the pool. Chloe is sitting alone at the bar. She’s fully dressed, but not in the same clothes she had on when Beca last saw her. The ones she’s wearing now are too long for her, and has far too much room around the bust.  
“What are you wearing?” Beca says as she climbs onto the bar stool next to her.  
“Stacie’s clothes,” Chloe says.  
She calmly sips her drink.  
“Ooh-kay,” Beca says. “Why?”  
“Well, things got naked, as I told you they would, and yes, you missed seeing me in the buff,” Chloe says. “And our clothes got sort of mixed up, and the new girl accidentally took my top, so I grabbed one at random, and Stacie took Fat Amy’s, and it all turned into a thing.”  
“So you had fun, then? Also, do I want to know what Amy is wearing?”  
“Bumper’s hoodie and Ashley’s skirt,” Chloe says. “And yes, I had fun. Although not as much fun as you, I see.”  
Beca blushes. She can tell from how her face is burning.  
“What do you mean?” she says.  
“Where’s your bra, Beca?”  
“Er,” Beca says. “Probably on its way to Germany.”  
Kommissar said she wanted to keep it as a memento. Beca thinks she really wanted it more as a trophy, but never mind. She’d have insisted on a trade, but Kommissar’s top was fishnet, so, well. She couldn’t do that.  
“Germany?” Chloe says. “You hooked up with one of the dudes from Das Sound Machine?”  
“Um. Yeah,” Beca says. “About that.”  
Chloe frowns.  
“About what?”  
Her hand flies up to cover her mouth and shocked expression.  
“Oh my God,” she says, “did you not use protection? Do we need to get you some Plan B? Is there a chance you have an STD?”  
“God, no!” Beca says. “Not that. It’s…”  
She gathers all the courage she can find. Despite what she said to Kommissar earlier, she’s still got a problem with the label thing.  
“If, over the course of several years, you sleep with a few guys, and it’s sort of nice,” she says, “and then you sleep with one woman, and it’s _amazing_ , like on a whole new level, that pretty much means you’re probably gay, right?”  
Chloe goes all still.  
“Well,” she says. “If you like having sex with other women, you’re not straight, by the common definition.”  
Beca turns her head to meet Chloe’s eyes.  
“Kommissar has my bra,” she says. “You know, the leader of Das Sound Machine? Ridiculously hot blonde girl?”  
Chloe nods.  
“She considered taking my panties too, but those were kind of… soggy. They went in the trash.”  
“So are you going to see her again?” Chloe says.  
“I have no idea,” Beca says.  
“Do you want to?”  
“Still no idea.”  
There is a pause. Chloe licks her lips.  
“Do you think…,” she says. “Do you think you’ll want to see other women in the future?”  
“Oh yes,” Beca says without even thinking about it. “Totally.”  
“Oh, good,” Chloe said. “That’s good. That you know what you want, I mean. Not specifically that you want to see women. Although that is good too. As is men. Or, like, anyone who can give informed consent. It’s all good. As long as it’s good for you. We were sort of just waiting for you before heading home, are you coming?”  
Beca frowns a little. Chloe is being weird. Weirder than usual.  
“Yea, sure,” she says. “I’m getting pretty tired.”  
She jumps down from her bar stool.  
“Say,” she says. “Are you all right?”  
“Uh-huh,” Chloe says. “Why wouldn’t I be?”  
She gets down from her stool.  
“I’m just pretty tired,” she says. “And maybe a little tipsy.”  
Beca looks at the bar where Chloe has been sitting. There’s a single glass there, half full and with all the ice melted. Whatever Chloe has been drinking, she hasn’t been drinking much or quickly. Worry blooms inside Beca. _Something_ is wrong with Chloe, and it scares her. It can’t reasonably be a homophobic reaction to what Beca just told her, because Beca knows that Chloe herself is bi, and that’s she’s never been anything but supportive to the Bellas who are dating other women. Or even other Bellas.  
Chloe starts walking toward where the majority of the Bellas are, on the other side of the pool. Beca follows, still trying to figure out what’s going on. They’re in the middle of the pool’s longer side, right under a light fixture, when the answer suddenly strikes Beca.  
For years, Chloe has had an impossible crush. Which just turned possible, and she doesn’t know how to handle it.  
Beca stops.  
“Chlo?” she says.  
Chloe stops and turns around. There’s maybe ten feet between them.  
“Yes?”  
“There’s actually only one woman I want to go out with,” Beca says.  
Chloe goes weirdly still again. It’s as if she’s putting a hold on her emotions so they won’t show, which is so unlike how she usually is that it gets spooky.  
“Oh?” she says.  
“So,” Beca says, “if you’re not busy this Friday night, perhaps you’d like to go have dinner or something? With me? Only me. No Bellas.”  
Chloe looks away for a moment, then back at Beca with an expression Beca can’t read.  
“If you’re joking right now, Beca Mitchell,” Chloe says, “I swear I’ll drown you in the pool.”  
“I’m not,” Beca says. “No joke. Dead serious.”  
Chloe visibly relaxes. At least a little.  
“Yes, Beca,” she says. “I would love to go out with you. On one condition.”  
“Condition?” Beca says. “There’s a condition? What condition?”  
“That I can kiss you once right now, right here,” Chloe says. “I’ve been wanting to for _years_ , and I’ve only been able to stand it because I knew it was impossible, only now it’s not impossible, and if I have to wait any longer I fear I’ll explode. Or go mad. One of those.”  
Beca smiles.  
“Absolutely,” she says. “You totally can.”  
A thought suddenly strikes her.  
“As long as you’re OK with that I, er, might be, that is, tasting like. German. Blonde… Girl. Because I haven’t… since we… You know.”  
Beca had just had to try out the Morse code thing on Kommissar, after Kommissar had used it to bring Beca to a whole series of mind-blowing orgasms. She is pretty sure her mouth still tastes of Kommissar’s juices.  
Somehow, the ten feet of space that was separating her from Chloe must have vanished, because Chloe is standing right next to her.  
“Are you saying,” Chloe says, “that if I kiss you right now, you’ll taste like another woman’s pussy?”  
Again with the burning face.  
“Er, yes,” Beca says. “I don’t know her name. It might _be_ Kommissar. I don’t know.”  
“That’s so hot,” Chloe whispers.  
And then they are kissing. She is kissing Chloe. For real. With the lips and the tongues and the holding each other really close and oh God it feels so good. It’s _Chloe_. Hoots and applause breaks out on the other side of the pool.  
“That’s so hot?” Beca says when they’ve broken apart for lack of air. “You’re so weird!”  
“Would you like me as much if I wasn’t?” Chloe says, her smile bright as the sun.  
And no. Of course she wouldn’t. Non-weird Chloe would not be Chloe. Would not be the woman that Beca is starting to suspect very strongly she’s actually in love with.  
“So will that tide you over until Friday?” she says.  
“If it doesn’t, I’ll let you know,” Chloe says. “Thank you.”  
They start walking toward the rest of the Bellas, who are still whistling, cheering and yelling at them. They’re holding hands. It’s kind of insufferably cute, in Beca’s opinion, but she just doesn’t want to let go. She turns to look at Chloe.  
“So,” Beca says. “What’s your opinion on the poetry of Sappho?”

  


**Author's Note:**

> This story now has a sequel, [Princess of Denmark](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4260681/chapters/9644205).


End file.
